Promise of a Snowfall
by Rainbow Stevie
Summary: He hated the first snowfall of the year. Oneshot.


Disclaimer: The lovely show and its snippy characters are property of…hold on, this is one I don't know off the top of my head. Uh, looks like David Shore, and I'll assume Fox Broadcasting would also get rather upset with me if I tried to profit from this story. So I own nothing, including the Almost Totally Random Pairing Generator.

Prompt: Cameron/House/Snowfall

Notes: You're witnessing history here; I've never written anything based on a prompt before. This is also my first-ever attempt at a House fic.

**Promise of a Snowfall**

He hated the first snowfall of the year.

Every October, or November if he was lucky, the grey clouds overhead would make good on their weeks of threatening overcast and begin sprinkling the ground with a powder so light it vanished as it landed; it took hours to build a paper-thin layer. And at the end of every autumn, he would scowl at the heaps of snow that had once again snuck up on him, and contemplate his seasonal desire to move further south.

The first snowfall itself was innocent; what he hated were its implications, that soon it would be followed by days and weeks and months of bitter wind and freezing temperatures and most of all, ice. He'd outfitted the bottom of his cane with every grip he could buy or invent, but he still couldn't go one damn winter without it slipping on some hidden patch of ice and sending him crashing to the ground, delivering pain that, however temporary, cut right through the Vicodin cushion, and made him wish Old Man Winter were a patient so he could run it through a few dozen tests and diagnose exactly what made him such a son-of-a-bitch. A lot of people had the same symptoms, and no one had yet figured out how to cure them, which put it right up the good Dr. House's alley.

But until it gained a body, or he at least remembered to contact realtors in July, he was resigned to suffering his only retaliation for this half of the year to complain about every miserable flake that fell

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"It's snowing!" Cameron cried in delight, looking out the window.

"Oh, goody!" Chase chirped back with biting sarcasm. Foreman just rolled his eyes with an expression that suggested she should be concentrating on work right now. Realizing she was the only one in the room with even a modicum of enthusiasm, she turned back to them in exasperation. "Come on, it's a _little_ exciting."

"It's _snow_," Chase repeated, in case she had failed to grasp its insignificance from the first comment.

Looking disgusted, she returned to her seat with a huff and a wistful smile. "Don't you remember when you were a kid, and the first time it snowed like this, you knew Christmas was coming? It's like a promise. Sledding, snowmen, Christmas lights in town. It's magic."

"With pretty little sugar plum fairies," House interrupted with his usual mocking delicacy, entering the office and throwing a stack of charts on the desk before echoing Chase. "It's snow."

She tossed him a smirk that said she didn't believe he was completely immune to the magic of a winter day like this, but let the matter drop as she leaned forward to open the folder. Having introduced the case, House let them put their heads together while he wandered over to the window, pensively watching the pending blizzard drift over the already well-blanketed ground. Had he been in a mood to wax nostalgic, he might have let himself remember a day…

House was never in a mood to wax nostalgic.

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And now he was heading home, tired and a little cranky about how long it had taken to find a loophole in Cuddy's orders so he could cure his patient. The sun had long since gone down, the wind was picking up, and naturally, there was ice all over the sidewalk. As he concentrated on navigating the concrete path, this short segment and another around the corner before he could stop, hysterical shrieks cut through the air. Irritably, he turned to tell the kids to shut up – or something along those lines - and realized the noise wasn't from children or even teenagers; it was coming from doctors. His doctors. Having a snowball fight.

Ten to one said Cameron was the instigator, but she was clearly losing as she missed Forman by a mile and a sphere of snow spattered against her thigh. As he watched, her second shot nicked Chase, who responded by attempting to shove her into a snow bank, only to be pulled down with her in an awkward tangle of arms and legs. She broke free immediately, laughing as she scrambled up and used one foot to hold Chase down.

Turning her head, she caught sight of the unmoving lone figure staring directly at her, and her breath caught in her throat and the exuberant smile slowly fell from her lips as the intensity of his gaze pinned her in place.

Dusted by snow, her auburn hair sparkled under the light of a streetlamp, and flushed cheeks made her face glow the same way. Even from this distance her eyes were an arresting, piercing blue, her lashes like elegant brush strokes. Given her coat's collar and cuffed sleeves, she could have walked straight out of a Dickensian novel.

She wasn't supposed to be this beautiful.

Even at this distance, there was flicker between them, and with the flakes still falling, it was as if they were the only two figures in one of those little plastic snow globes. It was spellbinding, surreal. Her lips parted. She seemed on the verge of calling out to him, and under the spell he might have done anything she asked.

In the blink of an eye a snowball exploded on the back of her head, and the moment broke as she whipped around to exact revenge on her attacker. By the time she had Chase on the ground again, pleading for mercy, and remembered to look back, House was gone. A little piece of something nameless curled in on itself and dissolved away in unrecognized promise.

House, now beyond the reach of any streetlamps, wandered forward at a limp with his eyes straight ahead, his mind on a stiff drink and the warmth of an artificial fire. There wasn't anything magic about a fresh snowfall. Just aching bones and frostbitten fingers and a relationship he didn't want and never had.

--end--


End file.
